Zooman Sam, Page 2

  "I don't know," his mother said, in a dubious voice. "I'd have a pretty hard time getting used to it, I think. The chimpanzee cage was pretty awful." She licked the spoon she had used to serve the ice cream, but she made a kind of bad-memory face.

  "Only the smell," Sam reminded her. "Everything else about the chimpanzees was good."

  His mother sighed. "Well, they had cute smiles." She widened her mouth and tried to imitate a chimpanzee smile.

  "Show some teeth, Mom," Anastasia said. Sam's sister made her own chimpanzee smile, with some teeth exposed. "Huh, huh, huh," she said, in a chimpanzee voice.

  "You need more lips," Sam's father announced. He'd been reading the Boston Globe after dinner, while he sipped his coffee. Sam's mom didn't like people to read at the table, but sometimes she said, "Oh, all right, Myron, just this once." She had said that tonight.

  Myron Krupnik put down the Boston Globe and did an imitation of a chimpanzee face. He shaped his mouth into a wide smile, and exposed some teeth, but then—this was the best part, Sam thought!—his dad fluffed out his lips. For an instant he looked exactly like a chimpanzee. His beard looked like chimp fur, his mouth looked like a chimp mouth, and his bald head looked like a chimp head.

  "Cool!" Sam said.

  "Amazing," Mrs. Krupnik said. "If you'd just take your glasses off, Myron—"

  "Gross, Dad," Anastasia said. "That was so gross."

  Sam's dad made his chimp face disappear. He looked like Myron Krupnik again. "It's all in the lips," he explained. He picked up the Boston Globe again, and continued reading about the Patriots for a moment. But then he put the paper down.

  "What does a zookeeper wear?" Sam's dad asked. Myron Krupnik knew a lot about almost everything. If you asked Mr. Krupnik how to build a rocket, or why the president of the United States wasn't a woman, he would tell you. But sometimes, like right now, Sam was surprised to find that his father was missing important information. Everyone knew what zookeepers wear, Sam was secretly thinking.

  But he was wrong. Everybody didn't.

  "Jeans," Anastasia said, to Sam's amazement. Even his sister didn't know.

  "Yes, I'm quite sure it would be jeans," Sam's mother said. "We won't have any trouble at all, fixing you up as a zookeeper, Sam. You were upset about nothing."

  "Not jeans," Sam insisted, and a little Chunky Monkey dribbled out of his mouth. He swallowed. "They wear a special zookeeper suit," he told his family, trying very hard to use a polite and patient voice.

  "I'll show you!" Sam said. He put down his spoon, climbed out of his seat, and ran into his father's study. He knew exactly where to look. Mr. Krupnik's study was lined with bookcases. Most of them held grown-up books, books with no pictures at all, books that Sam had never even opened. But beside the couch, on the lowest shelf, next to the floor, were Sam's books.

  He had other books in his own bedroom—a whole shelf full—but his favorites were here in his dad's study, so that in the evening, after dinner, he could curl up in the corner of the couch, next to his dad, or maybe on his lap, while his dad read to him.

  Holding up the bottom of his father's big Beethoven sweatshirt so that he wouldn't trip on it, Sam squatted down beside the bookcase and found the book he wanted. He took it back to the table, where his family was waiting.

  "I remember that one, Sam," his dad said. "We've read that one lots of times."

  Sam placed the book on the table in front of his dad. He stood beside him and watched while his father turned the pages of the zoo book.

  "The zookeeper's on the page with the lion," Sam whispered. "There." He pointed when his dad reached that page.

  Katherine Krupnik, Myron Krupnik, and Anastasia Krupnik all leaned over to examine the zookeeper. Sam didn't need to. Sam knew exactly what the zookeeper was wearing.

  "Oh, I see, Sam," his mother said. "It is a special zookeeper suit. Oh, dear."

  "And hat," Sam added, without looking at the picture. The picture was memorized inside his head.

  "Yes. And hat. Oh, dear," his mother said a second time. She was frowning. Not like Beethoven, though. Beethoven was frowning a grouchy frown. Katherine Krupnik was frowning a thinking sort of frown.

  Sam's dad sighed. "I still say a college professor would be a good choice," he said. "A briefcase, maybe a nice striped tie—"

  "No," Mrs. Krupnik and Anastasia said together.

  "Sam wants to be a zookeeper," Anastasia said.

  "I think we can do this," Sam's mom said in a determined voice.

  Sam began to finish his Chunky Monkey. His mother and sister were examining the picture carefully.

  "I would call it a kind of coverall, Sam," his mother said.

  "Sometimes garage mechanics wear them," Anastasia added.

  "Right!" Sam said. He remembered going to the garage with his dad, to have the snow tires taken off the car. Sam liked watching when they put the car up high so they could look at its bottom. He wanted to ride in it when it went up, but they wouldn't let him.

  At the garage, there was a guy with grease all over his face, and a dirty rag sticking out of his pocket. His sister was right; the suit the garage guy wore was very much like a zookeeper's suit.

  "Coverall?" Sam asked.

  "Coverall," said Katherine Krupnik. "I think I can do it."

  "And the hat?" Sam asked. "The special zookeeper's hat?"

  There was a silence. Then Sam's sister, Anastasia, said, "I have an idea about the hat."

  What a wonderful family I have, thought Sam.

  4

  Sam, still wearing his father's huge Beethoven sweatshirt, stood beside the kitchen table. He watched with interest as his mother began to cut with her big scissors. Anastasia had gone to the telephone.

  "There!" Mrs. Krupnik held it up. "What do you think?"

  Sam scrunched up his face and examined the suit. It had been his last year's winter pajamas: soft, fleecy, gray pajamas that felt cozy and warm on a snowy night.

  Mrs. Krupnik had carefully cut off the red striped cuffs at the end of each sleeve. She had cut off the feet. So there was nothing left now but a one-piece gray suit with a zipper up the front.

  "I'm going to hem the raggedy edges," she explained. "The places I cut? They'll be nice and neat when I'm finished." She opened the kitchen drawer that contained her sewing things, and began to push a gray thread carefully through the eye of a needle.

  "It's pretty good," Sam said.

  "Just pretty good? I thought you'd say 'spectacular,' Sam."

  "Well," Sam explained, "it needs some words on it. Right here." He pointed to the left side of his chest.

  "Words?" his mother asked.

  "See?" Sam opened the book to the page with the lion and the zookeeper again. The man in the gray coverall had some writing on the upper left side of his suit. Sam didn't know what it said.

  His mother examined it carefully. "Oh," she said. "I see what you mean."

  "Two words," Sam pointed out. "But I can't read," he added.

  "What's the first letter, Sam?" his mom asked with a smile.

  Sam examined the illustration. "Z," he told his mom.

  "And what's the sound a Z makes?"

  "Zzzzz," Sam said, grinning. He always liked when his mom played the sound-of-letters game with him.

  "Next?"

  Sam peered at the page. "O," he said. "Two O's."

  "The sound of two O's?" asked his mom. She had begun to hem the end of a sleeve.

  "Oooooooooo," Sam said.

  "Put it together."

  "Zoo!" Sam said happily. Then he frowned. "There are more letters," he pointed out.

  "What's next?"

  "K." He made the sound. "Keh, keh, keh." Without waiting for his mom to prompt him, he added it to "zoo."

  "Zook," Sam said. "And then two E's. Eeeeeeee. Zookeeee. And then P."

  His mom was busy hemming.

  "Zookeep," Sam said. "And more letters, but I don't even need them! It's zookeeper!"

  His mom sm
iled at him. She twisted the thread around in her fingers and snipped it off with the scissors. "There. One cuff done."

  "There's a whole other word, though," Sam said, "and I don't know what it is."

  His mom started on the second sleeve. "Try the letters."

  Sam did. The first letter was easy because of Jell-O. "J," he said, and made the sound to himself. "Then A," he went on, under his breath.

  Finally, as his mother began on the first leg of his gray coveralls, Sam looked up in delight. "Zookeeper Jake!" he said. "I figured it out!"

  "You sure did. Good for you!"

  "Can you make letters on my pajamas? I mean my coverall? My zookeeper's suit?"

  His mom sighed a big sigh. "I was afraid you'd ask me that. I guess I can, Sam. I'll try, anyway. What color do they have to be?"

  Sam examined the page with the picture. "Red," he told her.

  His mother looked through the cluttered things in her sewing drawer. Finally she pulled out a small tangled ball of thick red thread. "Embroidery thread!" she said. "Great! I had no idea I had that. I guess fate wanted you to have a prizewinning zookeeper's suit, Sam."

  "But don't make it say 'Jake,'" Sam warned her.

  "Not to worry," she reassured him. "'Zookeeper Sam,'" his mom announced. "In big red letters, right over your heart. Let me finish the cuffs first, though."

  She turned the coverall around to begin on the second leg. She glanced up at the clock on the wall over the refrigerator. "Gosh," she said, "it's late, Sam. You've got to get to bed. I'll have this ready for you in the morning, so you can wear it to school for Future Job Day. I promise."

  Sam slid down from his chair at the kitchen table. "Can I wear Beethoven to bed?" he asked. "Like a nightshirt?"

  "Sure. Go brush your teeth."

  "Okay. But—"

  "And go give Daddy a kiss goodnight."

  "Okay. But—"

  "But what?"

  "What about the hat?"

  Mrs. Krupnik set the coverall down in her lap. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. "Oh dear," she said, frowning again. "The hat."

  "Ta-da!" It was Anastasia, bounding through the kitchen door. "Sam, it's all set! You'll have a hat. I have to go pick it up."

  "Pick it up?" Mrs. Krupnik asked. "Where on earth—"

  "Don't worry, Mom. I'll be back in ten minutes. I'm just going over to Steve's house."

  "Your boyfriend's house? At this time in the evening?" Mrs. Krupnik looked dubious.

  "Mom, he is not my boyfriend."

  "Is that who you just called? In my day—"

  Anastasia groaned. "I know, Mom, in your day, girls never called boys. But it isn't your day anymore.

  "And anyway, he lives just down the street, and it's not that late, and"—Anastasia knelt to tie her hiking boot and then headed for the back door.

  "What about my hat?" Sam asked loudly.

  "Your hat is at Steve's house," Anastasia told him. She was grinning. "Bye. I'll be back in half an hour, Mom. Trust me."

  "This family is nuts," Mrs. Krupnik said. "This whole family is nuts. Including me." She folded the coverall, put it next to the red embroidery thread, and stood up. "Come on, Sam. Up to bed."

  Sam took her hand, went to kiss his dad goodnight, and then followed his mother up the stairs and into the bathroom. She watched while he brushed his teeth with his Mickey Mouse toothbrush. She washed his face and hands. Then she examined his neck and his bare feet. "Not too bad," she said. "Don't tell anyone that we skipped your bath tonight, Sam."

  "I'm clean," Sam said.

  "Right. We're a clean and tidy family, aren't we?" his mother said.

  "Yeah," Sam agreed. But the word tidy reminded him of something. He couldn't remember exactly what. But tidy made him feel a little uncomfortable.

  His mom took him to his bedroom and opened the door. She gasped.

  Now he remembered. His bedroom was completely covered in clothing. Every bit of clothing that Sam had ever owned, including underwear, Halloween costumes, snowsuits, sailor suits, and swimsuits, was on the floor, on the bed, on the rocking horse, on the lampshade, on the windowsills.

  "Sam! What the heck—" His mom's face was surprised. Well, it was more than surprised. It was puzzled. No, it was more than puzzled. His mom's face was mad. Really mad.

  "Remember that I'm your very favorite son," Sam said nervously.

  "I'm remembering that," Mrs. Krupnik said in a tense voice.

  Sam watched his mother's face. He watched her mouth to see what it would say. Maybe it would say, "Sam, sweetie." He liked it when his mom said that.

  Instead, her mouth said, "Clean. This. Up. Immediately."

  So Sam did. It was the kind of thing a zookeeper had to do now and then, and it was no fun, no fun at all. But his mom helped him, and when they were finished, she kissed him goodnight.

  5

  Usually Sam needed a little help getting dressed in the morning. Especially with shirts. Especially if the shirt was a turtleneck. If he tried to put a turtleneck shirt on by himself, his head often got stuck and he felt scared, trapped in the dark.

  But this morning, when Sam woke up and saw the zookeeper's coverall neatly arranged on the foot of his bed, he didn't even call his mom for help.

  Quickly he pulled on some underpants. White ones. Usually Sam preferred his Superman underpants, but he thought probably a zookeeper would wear plain white.

  Then socks. He chose gray ones, with a red stripe around the top, because they matched his outfit.

  Next he stepped into the gray coverall, poked his arms into the sleeves, and zipped it up. Cool. It was easy to get dressed if you were a zookeeper.

  He slipped his feet into his sneakers and pushed the Velcro fasteners closed.

  Then Sam went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Standing on his special stool, he admired himself in the mirror. He combed his hair as flat as possible because he didn't like his curls. Of course it wouldn't matter, as soon as he put on his special zookeeper hat.

  Sam didn't know what kind of hair Zookeeper Jake in his book had because the special hat covered his head. Jake might have curls, or straight hair, or he might even be bald. It didn't matter.

  Sam leaned forward, balancing against the edge of the sink, to look down at himself in the mirror. He wanted to admire his coverall. His mother had made nice big red letters over his heart the way she had promised.

  He tried to read them in the mirror and was startled to find that he couldn't. The letters were all backward. They didn't look right.

  Sam scrunched up his eyes and squinted to see if that would help. But it didn't.

  He stepped down from the stool and tucked his chin in tight so that he could see his own chest. Now the letters weren't backward, really; but they were upside down.

  Sam sighed. He unzipped his coverall and tried to take it off. But his sneakers were too big. His feet wouldn't fit through. He pulled the Velcro fasteners loose, took off his sneakers, and pulled the coverall off of his legs. Now it was wrong side out.

  Patiently, sitting on the bathroom floor wearing only his underpants and socks, Sam figured out how to reverse the arms and legs so that everything was going in the correct direction. Finally he held the suit up and examined his mother's red embroidered words.

  SAM, he read easily, and smiled.

  Above SAM he could see the familiar Z, followed by two O's. But the other letters were wrong. They weren't the letters he had seen in his book.

  "Mom!" Sam wailed. He wadded up the coverall and left the bathroom. He could hear his family downstairs, in the kitchen.

  "Mom!" he called again, and hurried down the stairs, carrying the bundled suit under one arm and his sneakers under the other.

  Anastasia was just putting her schoolbooks into her backpack by the door. His father, sipping coffee, was reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. His mother, wearing jeans and a blue sweater, was at the sink, rinsing some cereal bowls. They all looked at Sam with surprise when he
entered the kitchen.

  "You never seem to wear clothes anymore, Sam," his dad said. "You've practically become a nudist."

  "What's going on, Sam?" his mother asked. She turned off the water and looked at him curiously.

  "Aren't you cold?" Anastasia asked. But Sam shook his head. He had forgotten that he was wearing only underpants. He dropped his sneakers on the floor.

  "What does this say?" he asked in a loud voice. His father, mother, and sister all looked as he unfolded the coverall and laid it on the table so that the red letters showed.

  "Oh," his mom said, smiling. "Can't you read it?"

  "I can read that it doesn't say 'Zookeeper,'" Sam told her, suspiciously.

  "You're right. I started stitching the letters in, just the way they were in the book, and I got zoo, and then, you know what? I started to run out of room. The letters kept getting smaller and smaller and more and more crowded. Anastasia, do you have a pen? Can you show him?"

  Anastasia took a marking pen out of her backpack and she wrote on a paper napkin.

  ZOOKEEPER

  Sam could see that it didn't look very good.

  "So," his mother explained, smoothing the coverall with her hand, "I ripped out all the way back to the zoo. I had to decide what to do. Actually, it was Daddy's idea. See? I spelled—"

  "Wait, Katherine, see if he can sound it out," Sam's dad suggested.

  So Sam looked carefully at the first letter after zoo. It was an M. "Mmmmm," he said, making the sound. "Zoom," he said, adding the M to the zoo.

  The next letter was A. He looked at it carefully, trying to put it together with the M. "Maaa," Sam said aloud. "Zooma."

  "Now look at the last letter," Anastasia said. She glanced at her watch. "I have to go in a minute. Want a hint? Think of something that begins with 'super.'"

  "Superman?" Sam asked. He looked back at the red letters. "Zooman!" he said in amazement. "Zooman Sam!"